


Where the Fields Couldn't See

by prettyfacebreaker



Series: Where the Fields Couldn't See [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: 1970s, Abuse of Authority, Captivity, Cold War, Death Threats, Dehumanization, M/M, Multi, Prison, Russia, Soviet Union, Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:29:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28302366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyfacebreaker/pseuds/prettyfacebreaker
Summary: Having spent two weeks on the barren floor of a Russian cell, young Emir is barely keeping his head above the water. That is until he is placed under the foreign command of General Levkin - a man with other uses for him.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: Where the Fields Couldn't See [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2072931
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	Where the Fields Couldn't See

**Author's Note:**

> So after a long semester, I'm back with some inspiration. Not sure if this will be a linear story but I'm just rolling with it for now. :)

Two weeks.

 _How many more?_ he thought.

It had been two weeks. He grunted, low and scratching at his throat and turned over once again. There was no hope of comfort on the cell’s concrete. He had grown used to the cold rather quickly. Grown used to folding his legs into his chest in the place of a woollen blanket. Become jaded to the comings and goings of steel-toed boots that only ever rested to curtly kick him in the ribs and wander back off. 

He wished there was a window, something to look at because otherwise there was little to focus on in the hours. Stubbornly, he tried to concentrate on something even if that was an insect scurrying from one corner to another. Keep his brain working.

Keep the dull ache in his shoulder blades at bay, or the darker thoughts tucked away in a shelf for later use. They had no place here now. 

It had been two weeks. 

He was starting to abandon the idea that the coming one would be the last. 

There was no certainty how long he had been concentrated on the steel bar’s curve but that focus broke with swift and heavy footsteps. They scratched to a stop in front of the bar. And yet, Emir refused to raise his eyes to meet the guard’s steely, mocking ones seemingly always prepared to bore into him with that arrogant _I can hurt you so badly_ look.

“Time to get up, dog. You’re squandering the day.” He never liked this guard and it had nothing to do with the insults. 

When he spoke, his face contorted in a malicious smirk with each word and the hunch with which he walked was imposing. Unnatural. 

“Still not looking up, eh? Do I need to beat you again?” he sneered. “You’re a slow learner.” The guard swung his baton in an even circle towards and towards him. 

Emir set his jaw but bit his tongue. If he wasn’t already weak from the previous beatings and brute torture the group of men had subjected him to, he would’ve spat something miserable back. 

Scoffing, he went to unlock the gate with a bored cadence. “I’m here for you, obviously. Get up.” 

“Whe-…” He stopped to clear his throat of the rasp. “Where am I going?” The question was met with a brisk laugh. The type that said _you should know better_. And yet he didn’t. 

After two weeks, he didn’t want to know any better than first coming here.

Tensing his legs to give himself enough strength, he pushed up onto his knees and stood with the support of the wall. The guard seemed patient today. He didn’t dare test the generosity. His cuffs were taken hold of and tightened as soon as he passed the bar and they began the walk, baton pressed into the small of his back. 

It was a creeping anxiousness at first that made his heart beat faster the further he got from his cell. Then, it turned into curdling nausea, making it harder to go forward at the guard’s pace. If any time was the one to ask, it was now. 

“Am I going to die?” he asked quietly. His voice almost broke over the question. 

Another laugh. “That’s for you to find out.” 

It was a wonder he hadn’t made peace with his mortality with everything he had seen but there might not even be enough time left. Would it matter, in the end? Would it matter when he was kneeling, looking not at the sky but up the blackened barrel of a gun? 

He couldn’t lift his eyes when the guard pulled the chair back with an awful metal screeching and pushed him into it as if disciplining a child. There was a man sitting across from him - had been from when he entered the room but he couldn’t look at him. An important one, he could tell from the muddled reflection in the table. Nothing was said for a few moments but he was sure the slamming of his heart against his ribs was interrupting anything he wanted to say.

“Emir Suleiman,” began a low voice at last. “It is my understanding that you have been held here for…” _two weeks_ “ half a month following your capture?” 

Something stirred in him that the man was wearing a smile as he asked. And there was the faintest hum when he answered affirmatively. And then followed another fit of silence, broken casually by the flipping of document pages. The crunch of an apple, crisp. 

“Hmm,” came the reply through bits of fruit. “Emir.” 

He could feel the man’s insistent eyes on him but he wasn’t ready to break the streak of defiance. Especially not if it was his last. 

“Look up at me, Emir.” Despite the sternness, the command was somewhat softer than what he was used to from the other guards. “Show some respect. You are with _me_ now, not your dead pilot.”

At that, he squeezed his eyes shut. Silent remembrance and only a moment. Then willed himself to open them again and slowly lift his chin until he met the eyes. They were much more imposing than he first imagined, ice blue, but there was something shifting underneath he couldn’t place. 

Was it irony or _eagerness_? 

“Do you know who I am?”

Emir shook his head, holding his breath for the answer.

“General Levkin, but you will call me ‘Sir’ as of today. I am signing off on your release,” he explained with his eyes turned on the yellowed paper. “Upon your release, you will be serving me-” 

“-You’re better off killing me,” he interrupted with a sneer. 

The guard was halfway to bringing the baton down onto his skull before the General stopped it with a hand. “ _Stoy_ , no need for that.” Patiently, he folded his hands together on the table. “I can certainly arrange that, Emir. It is entirely your choice.” 

He felt that this Levkin was entirely lying. That it wasn’t his choice and was further from his choice than anything would ever be. With the beatings, the mocking, starvation, and labour, nothing had been his choice for some time now. Never his choice. This wasn’t either. 

But Emir had learned this some time ago. He also knew those who were waiting for him, praying for his safe return, and if choosing this meant those prayers would be answered then… 

“My only other option is death, then?” 

The corners of General Levkin’s mouth quirked up. “It is an _availability_.” Because of course, it was. 

He paused and inhaled deeply, struggling to keep his eyes up. “I want to live… Sir” 

“Of course you do.” The General dabbed the pen onto his tongue before scribbling something down and sealing the document.


End file.
